“I wanted her to come, and she refused. I’d planned to tell her a few truths this weekend and everyone keeps shitting on my plan.” I push the door open and take a moment to absorb the silence. And maybe to rein in my foul mood. I can’t walk into this meeting with Mike feeling like this. It’ll be a bloodbath. My patience is thin at best, and my need to get back to Ava to fix this shit is all I can think of.

“You were going to bring her here to tell her about this place?” Sam asks. “Why would you do that?”

“Because she can’t run away from me here,” I say without thought, the deepest corner of my mind giving us both the answer. We’re in the middle of nowhere. She can’t walk away.

“That’s fucked up, Jesse,” Sam says over a nervous laugh. “But regardless, she isn’t here, so why the fuck are you?”

I head for my office, and Sam is in quick pursuit. “Mike’s here. He wants to talk, and I need this problem to be gone once and for all.” It’ll be a tick off my endless list.

I stop at my office door and look back, finding Sam’s stopped at the end of the corridor to my office. He thumbs over his shoulder. “I’ll be in the bar. Drew’s on his way.”

Fuck me, it’s like the mounting of troops. “You called the cavalry?” Of course he has. This Jesse is not the man they’re used to dealing with.

He throws his hands skyward. “I didn’t know what the fuck was going on.”

I shake my head and push my way into my office. Talk, resolve this shit with Mike and Coral, then get the fuck out of here. I find Sarah at my desk and John pacing circles, guarding Mike, who’s looking a bit too comfortable on my couch. It riles me, and riling me now isn’t wise for anyone. “So I’m here,” I say, closing the door behind me. “Let’s talk.” I feel John’s eyes burning through his wraparounds, focused on me, and Sarah’s obviously tense, drumming her long red nails on my desk. I set my keys and phone down, eyeing her. “You okay?” I mouth, and she nods, but there’s no denying she’s stressed.

“You going to ask your skivvies to fuck off?” Mike asks, and I turn to find him throwing a gesturing hand John’s way, not looking at him. I, however, do, and the big guy’s chest is rolling dangerously, his phone turning in his hand repeatedly. Call me intuitive, but this doesn’t feel like it’s going to be the calm, grown-up discussion that John alluded to. I don’t feel the air clearing. I feel it clouding more.